


Dare to Follow

by staranon



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, King Din, M/M, but not between the lads, escort cobb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranon/pseuds/staranon
Summary: Once betrothed as children, Din Djarin, Manda'lor, thought that Crown Prince Cobb Vanth was dead. Some twenty years later, delegates from the newly stated New Republic of Tatooine gift the king of Mandalore an escort. The Desert Rose.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	Dare to Follow

**Author's Note:**

> everyone in the dincobb discord sever is a terrible enabler but i love what they inspire in me
> 
> this is 1000% self indulgent. you've been warned.

The delegates from the New Republic of Tatooine had come with a gift.

Din had not been told previously what type of gift he should expect. At the very least it would’ve been maybe jewels or fine animals to appease to the mighty Manda’lor.

The kingdom of Tatooine—now referred to as the New Republic—had been establishing new ties with the other regions. After years of civil war and bloody coups, the old royal family had been—as Din heard—wiped out, and in its place a ruling oligarchy had been established by the remaining noble houses left in Tatooine.

Din’s heart still clenched when he thought about it. His betrothed had been one of those casualties. Crown Prince Cobb Vanth. He was, what? Sixteen at the time? Din had been thirteen, going on fourteen. It had been had for him to grasp that he would never see Cobb again, but Din had a duty to the throne of Mandalore. That’s what he’d been raised to expect.

“Mighty Manda’lor,” the delegate said. “We thank you for treating us in such a fine fashion. We hope this may establish future ties between our mighty kingdoms.”

“It is good to see the New Republic of Tatooine reaching out to us. Our kingdoms have always been on good terms with one another.”

“And we hope to make these new connections. I would like to present to you, Great Manda’lor, a gift to show our gratitude. Look forward to the challenge of breaking this one in.”

Din expected maybe a horse. Tatooine was known for its fine racehorses, ones that could race across the desert and withstand such high heats and dry climates.

Instead, he got this.

A man was brought forward, swathed in golden chains that manacled his neck, his wrists, and his ankles. He was dressed in a gaudy amount of silks that was probably meant to highlight his lithe frame—thin and built like a dancer. The man’s eyes were fixed to the floor where he stood, hands folded primly, hair combed back neatly to accent his narrow chin and expressive eyes.

But something was off about this. There was a way the man clenched his hands and the way he stared at the floor like he was trying to crack it that rubbed Din the wrong way. Not that being given a literal human didn’t already rub him the wrong way, but this man looked one step away from snapping in a possibly explosive way.

“We present to you the Desert Rose, Cobb Vanth.”

_Cobb Vanth._

How long had it been since he last heard that name? Twenty years now? A whole generation of people had been born in the time that the entire Vanth family had been wiped off the map. How many people would remember him now? Know that he was at one point the Crown Prince?

 _“Your Majesty._ ” Boba’s gentle remind from beside him moved Din into action.

“Yes,” he said. “A fine gift indeed.”

The delegate smiled. “He will make a fine escort for His Majesty with just enough spirit to make it entertaining, I hope.” The delegate then muttered something to Cobb, and Cobb looked up.

“I am at your service, master,” though he nearly spat out the word ‘master,’ and Din couldn’t get over the fact that Cobb Vanth was standing before him in the flesh. No longer a gangly, long limbed teenager, but a grown man. The beauty mark at the corner of his left eye was all Din needed to confirm him.

_Cobb Vanth._

Cobb Vanth was alive.

“I accept your gift,” he said, sealing his fate and Cobb’s.

And Cobb gave him the nastiest sneer he’d ever seen on someone before.

Well.

This was going to be _lovely._

Since his ascension to the throne of Mandalore, Din had been subject to long lengths of tedium whenever he had to preside over court. Of course, he had been prepared for this for many years. But as the day went on, he couldn’t keep his thoughts off of Cobb.

The man was standing off to the side of the room with the Tatooine delegates, standing primly by and maintaining a demure posture. It was hard to believe Cobb was alive. It had to be him, right?

He let his head tilt just slightly to the right, his helmet hiding the fact that his eyes weren’t on the courtiers in front of him, but the richly dressed Cobb.

None of this fit him. He was a Prince for Maker’s sake. Standing there, bound in gold chains, barefoot, dressed in silks that left his arms bare.

 _“Mando_ ,” Boba hissed, low enough that Din was the only one to hear it.

_The Manda’lor must never be named, must never be seen. They embody a role that is larger than them. This is what you will live for, Din. This is the Way._

Din turned his attention back to the courtiers in front of him. He couldn’t let these new feelings override his sense of duty. He’d just have to wait until he had a moment with Cobb alone.

* * *

The banquet was in full force after the sun had set. Din had been given time to separate himself so he could eat in peace, taking his meal in a closed off room so he could remove his helmet. Upon his return to the main hall, he was expected to mingle, mostly. Speak with foreign delegates on a more familiar level. He found this entire process to be tiring. If he couldn’t be with the people without the armour holding him back, he didn’t think it to be fruitful at all.

He stood at the head of the room with Boba, his right hand, standing at attention meant to keep an eye out for any threat. Din also knew Fennec would be keeping to the edges of the room, gleaning any information she could in a fashion that was decidedly more covert than Boba’s hulking presence in beskar armour that showed its wear and tear.

“An escort,” Boba muttered, while they stood next to each other and presided over the festivities. The Manda’lor wouldn’t be expected to dance, and Mandalorian weren’t known to be a festive people. More stoic than anything, and Din had been called Manda’lor the Reluctant for a reason. He was stoic and firm in most things he did, but now faced with this situation—he was more puzzled than ever.

“Cobb Vanth,” Din said, finding Cobb easily in the crowd where he stood next to the Tatooine delegates. The red silks he was dressed in cut through the sea of Mandalorian greys and sombre blues.

“Yes,” Boba said. “It appears he has returned from the dead.”

“To think they kept his name.”

“It’s illegal to speak of House Vanth in Tatooine. By now, most have forgotten about the family. Maybe they decided now would be the good time to trot him out.”

“As an escort?”

“He’s your gift.”

“Don’t remind me. The council won’t be pleased.”

“They never are.”

“Then do you have any words for me, oh learned one?”

He could tell Boba was amused by all of this. There was a way he tilted his head to the side when Din knew he was likely smiling.

“Treat Vanth as you would any other. I’m sure you’ll come to a solution.”

As always Boba wasn’t much help, but it wasn’t like he could be of much help. There was no way the council would agree on Cobb Vanth’s identity or even recognize that he was legitimate. His house was dead. His claim to the throne was dead. It was just Din’s hope that maybe he could solve his marriage problem with this convenient reappearance of his betrothed from childhood.

“Oh, Mighty Manda’lor.” One of the delegates’ voices cut through the crowd, catching Din’s attention and returning it to the main banquet hall before him. “The Desert Rose has prepared a performance for Your Majesty to demonstrate his suitability as your escort. I hope you find it pleasing as it is seductive.”

Cobb had the chains of his manacles removed, freeing up his movement so he could stand in the center of the room, eyes fixed ahead of him in a dead manner, and then the music played, and he began to move.

Watching Cobb dance was mesmerizing, but it still twisted Din’s gut something awful. There was no joy on Cobb’s face. He moved fluidly in a dance that was soaked in Tatooine customs and traditions. People of Tatooine danced to tell stories, to communicate emotions too powerful for words, and seduction. It was more skin than Din was used to seeing, and it had an intended effect. Seduce the Manda’lor.

He wondered if Cobb was required to spy on him. If the New Republic of Tatooine delegates wished to sow discord into Mandalore for their own gain.

Cobb spun in a delicate circle, extending his arms and arching his neck to accentuate his features. It was a flurry of silk, sharp movements before it eased into a show, an invitation of pleasure and submission.

When he spun, Din could see a mark on his bare back, a brand of sorts. His costume was deliberately cut, hanging at the neck so everyone could see that he was an owned man. But Din couldn’t place the brand until the dance came to an end with Cobb sinking to the ground in front of him, arching his back and neck in a display of submission before crossing his arms over his chest and bending forward—a promise. And then he saw the brand.

The symbol of House Vanth had been a four-pointed star with a rose in the center, and these delegates or whoever took Cobb when he was a child still had branded him with the symbol of his House that had all been wiped out from public record.

The music ended, the people clapped, and Cobb raised his head but remained on his knees, staring fiercely up at Din as if testing him. Wondering what the Manda’lor would do to him.

Din cleared his throat and was blessedly thankful for his helmet for it covered the blush on his cheeks. He felt his heartbeat in his throat and didn’t know if the twist in his gut was a physical reaction to Cobb’s wanton display of skin and seduction, or the sickening feeling that Cobb had been pressed into this position as an escort.

He extended his hand, instead and watched Cobb’s reaction, a twitch of the jaw as he accepted Din’s hand to help him up from the ground. He knew how the display would come off. The Manda’lor accepting the slave escort he’d been given. No doubt the other clans would talk about it. The fact that Din hadn’t yet taken a spouse was still subject to debate and something he was being pressed on and would have to address eventually. But for the Manda’lor to accept someone like Cobb in this way?

It was simply another thing he knew he’d have to address among his council, another thing they would needle him for.

“I hope my performance has pleased you, master,” Cobb said, feigning loyalty, but Din knew better.

He let his hand drop to his side as Cobb folded his demurely in front of him.

He didn’t know how to reply to him, and so in his silence, Cobb bowed and took two steps back before returning to the delegates he’d arrived with.

“If you wished to keep this a quiet matter,” Boba whispered to him, “I think you blew your chance.”

* * *

When Din was five, he met Crown Prince Cobb Vanth for the first time. Cobb had been eight and it was established that they would send the summers in each other’s kingdoms until they were of age to marry. It was to strengthen the ties between the kingdoms of Tatooine and Mandalore. Din had not been primed for the throne yet, so he was a suitable choice to be married to the Crown Prince.

He was a painfully shy child and hardly left his guardian’s side, but the Armourer pushed and prodded him to speak to Cobb.

Under the watchful eyes of their guardians, Cobb had presented Din with a small wooden token on a leather string.

“It’s a japor snippet,” Cobb said, not looking anywhere at Din and instead dragging his foot through the dirt in the way that children do when they’re uncomfortable.

“Does it do anything?” Din asked.

Cobb frowned. “No. It’s just a gift.”

“Oh.”

Their first summer together had been tense, but they were five and eight respectively—their fates taken out of their own hands. The summer after, Din would travel with the Armorer to Tatooine and he’d spend more time with Cobb. And each summer after that they became fast friends, thick as thieves, sneaking off to the kitchens to pilfer sweets.

Of course, Din grew to love Cobb. He waited expectantly for his letters during the months apart. He treasured the time they had together because being around Cobb allowed Din to just be Din. Just to be himself without the expectations of his clan weighing heavily on his soul.

But that would all change when Din was thirteen and they received word that House Vanth had fallen to a bloody insurrection and that Prince Cobb was presumed dead.

The news was devastating to his clan. His arranged marriage was to be a moment of pride for them. And instead of this, the Armourer prepared Din for another path—the Way of the Manda’lor.

“You will succeed us in this way, Din. This is the Way.”

His role as Manda’lor would be seeped in his clan’s traditions. Faceless. Nameless. Fully dedicated to the throne and the kingdom—a more archaic sense of title than most other clans. When he was twenty-two he was entered into the position of contenders after the previous Manda’lor had passed and it was only by luck that he bested the council’s favoured contender Bo-Katan. She’d lost her footing when they were sparing as one of the final tests, and he was declared the next Manda’lor. She’d never forgiven him for that and he knew she was vying for his abdication, but Din’s duty and commitment to his clan was the only thing that kept him here. And if he didn’t marry a foreign delegate, then he knew he’d be pressed to marry Bo-Katan and he couldn’t imagine a worse outcome.

But now that Cobb was here, in front of him, _alive_ —maybe there was a way he could have something he wanted.

* * *

Cobb had been brought to his personal chambers, but Din had asked Fennec to see that separate quarters could be arranged for him. He didn’t know what Cobb expected of him, but Din could certainly put two and two together. Cobb was an escort. He was trained to please people, and Din could only imagine what that would be.

But still, he wasn’t prepared for the sight of Cobb on his bed, languidly spread out like he was expecting him and attempting to look enticing, all sharp angles and exposed skin. He propped himself up on one arm, arching his neck and always looking up at Din from beneath his lashes.

_What have they done to you, cyar’ika?_

“Welcome, master,” Cobb said. “How may I serve you?”

Din stood in the center of his room, forcing himself to take stock of the situation before he acted. The manacles and collar around Cobb’s limbs and neck were still in place but blessedly free of the chains that had held him earlier in the evening. But they were still a sore sight to look at.

He took a deliberate step to a table that held the casing for the keys to Cobb’s chains. He picked them up and held them in his hand. Gilded in gold as well, and he hated seeing Cobb weighed down in the finery of it all, knowing that it was all just to dress up and hide the abuse done to his body.

“May I?” he asked, holding the keys for Cobb to see. He wouldn’t come close to Cobb until he knew the man wanted him there.

“Whatever you desire, master,” Cobb said, bringing his wrists forward. He probably expected Din to chain him again, but instead he took one wrist in his hand and gently unlocked the first manacle. There seemed to be some sores, some irritation he’d have to see treated.

Once his wrists were free, Din knelt in front of Cobb and did the same to the manacles at his ankles. Cobb held perfectly still for him, watching him through wide eyes as Din tilted his head up.

“May I remove the collar?” he asked. Wrists and ankles were one thing, but most people were protected of anything at their neck and head, and he didn’t want to presume.

“If that’s what you choose, master.”

And it wasn’t the first time that the word made Din flinch.

“Mando,” he said. “Please call me Mando. Most of my close associates do regardless.”

Cobb tilted his head forward for Din to gently pull the heavy collar from his neck and set it aside. Cobb’s hand twitched as if he wanted to touch his neck, but instead he folded his hands together and pressed them between his knees.

Din rose to his feet and stepped back, providing Cobb with a sense of space.

“Mando,” Cobb said, smirking and shaking his head ruefully. “If that’s what my master wishes, then who am I to disagree?” He slipped back on his elbows onto the bed, offering up the pale expanse of his throat.

“That is something I wished to speak to you of,” Din said and he breathed in deeply to steel his nerves. “The Kingdom of Mandalore is not in the business of keeping slaves. From now on, you will be treated as a guest in these halls.”

That seemed to shock Cobb, stripping away the playful seductive posture he’d been carefully maintaining all night.

Cobb stood up. He closed the distance between them, and Din couldn’t help but stumble back a half step, leaning back at the sudden intrusion of his personal space. Cobb raising his hands to Cobb’s breastplate.

“You don’t wish to keep me, master?” Cobb said, smirking and trying to come off as a willing partner. “I can assure you, I am skilled in many areas.”

“And that I have no doubt,” Din said, gathering Cobb’s wrists gently and attempting to put some distance between them. “But I will not break my kingdom’s stance on keeping someone unwilling in my household.”

Cobb dropped his gaze, and Din slowly let go of his wrists. “You don’t want me.”

“I want to know that you’re taken care of. Mandalore does not keep slaves and you will not be treated as such.”

“You’ll free me,” Cobb said, half a statement and half a question when he met Din’s gaze. This his face turned into a look of desperation. “You’ll let me go.”

“I . . . I can’t, not yet,” Din said. He wished it could be that simple, but if he let Cobb go free, he likely wouldn’t make it far. “It’d be too dangerous for you at this time, and I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.”

“So not a slave, just a prisoner,” he said, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest.

This wasn’t what Din expected, but he didn’t know how to address any of this. Cobb’s disappearance. His kidnapping and subsequent enslavement. Din’s own precarious situation as the Manda’lor and how he needed to maintain propriety and protocol. He couldn’t just come out with it and say ‘I am Din Djarin! Your betrothed!’ He had to approach this situation delicately.

“A guest,” Din assured him, but Cobb wasn’t having it.

“Then get a new bedwarmer,” he hissed.

“I have had private quarters prepared for you,” he offered, extending his hand to the door to lead Cobb to his own rooms. “May I show you to them?”

Cobb didn’t look at him but all but fled for the door, arms wrapped around his torso. The walk to Cobb’s quarters was short, but tense all the same. He opened the door to let Cobb in. He intended to show Cobb around, but Cobb immediately shut the door in his face. He heard the key turn in the lock.

Din rested his forehead against the closed door, allowing him a moment of solitude before he had to carry on.

* * *

Din wouldn’t see Cobb for three days. According to Fennec—who was the only person Cobb allowed into his chambers after she bargained her way in—Cobb was reveling in his newfound freedom but was suspicious of everyone.

“But he’s full of wit,” Fennec said. “Clearly he’s been educated since his disappearance. I can see why they would think you’d enjoy the challenge of having him.”

“I don’t know why you don’t just come out with it,” Boba added. “Why not tell him? I imagine he’d like to know he has a friend here.”

He looked at them pointedly through the passive gaze of his helmet. “You know the reason why.”

The Creed. The Path. Names and faces were reserved for spouses in his clan, and even if they’d been betrothed at one time, it would be a deep insult to his clan, who had vied for the seat of Manda’lor for generations. They wouldn’t accept him being so informal around an escort.

“He won’t want to be cooped up in the palace forever,” Fennec said. “Maker knows I didn’t. Speak to him, Mando. At the very least you can manage that.”

So Din took that advice and decided to invite Cobb to take dinner with him. But with a distinct set up of a screen between them so Cobb wouldn’t accidentally see his face. He welcomed Cobb into his quarters and tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach at the sight of Cobb dressed in red silks that were printed with roses.

 _Desert Rose._ Did they call him that just to rub the salt in the wound that he was the last of his House?

“Mando,” Cobb said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I figured we could dine together. So that I may welcome you to Mandalore properly.”

Cobb strode into the room like he owned it in a twist of silk and sash. The brand on his back was hard to look at, but he turned soon enough, looking at the spread of food and drink on the table before him. He plucked a grape from a bunch.

“Just us two? Why, Mando, how did you know I like to be wined and dined?” He grinned when Din’s hands tightened at his sides. He poured himself a helping of wine, holding himself loose as he walked the room. “Mighty Manda’lor. Manda’lor the Reluctant. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I imagine you have.”

Cobb grinned and retreated to a plush settee in the room. “I have to admit, I am pleased that you accepted me. You’re by far the best option I’ve been offered to.”

Din remained silent, at a loss of what to say. He’d say he was feeling paralyzed in that moment, trying to reconcile what he remembered about Cobb and trying to place it on this man before him. And he couldn’t do it. This Cobb wasn’t the Prince he’d spent his summers with, and it was futile to try and compare the two. He had to see Cobb for who he was—a prisoner, a slave, something pretty that had been passed around as a favour, now stuck in Mandalore.

“I’d hope that you’d be settling in well here,” Din said. “Is there anything I could get you for you chambers?”

Cobb tilted his head, propped it up on his fist, and took a long swallow of his wine—throat working quickly. He licked his lower lip, tongue stained by the red wine. Again, there was that throb deep Din’s stomach, something more pleasurable that he refused to think on too deeply.

“If I asked for a knife,” Cobb said.

“I’d see that you would be able to protect yourself if my guards weren’t able.”

“And what if I asked for a pet? I used to have a dog growing up.”

_I know, cyar’ika. Deputy was a wonderful pet._

“I’d ask if you had a breed preference.”

“And a horse?” Another swallow of wine, but this time Cobb kept his gaze on Din.

“Our stables are home to well-renowned war mounts.”

“Not even my favoured suitors would provide for me in this way. And I can only imagine the price this might cost me, hm?”

“No, price,” Din was quick to say, and at his quick correction Cobb only grinned and shook his head. “You are a guest. A respected one. Ask and I will provide.”

Cobb swallowed the rest of his wine and stood. He poured himself another glass and stepped around the table to stand before Din. “Everyone has a price, Mando. But for your sake, I’ll try to be accommodating.”

It was a tense meal, but Cobb respected his wishes of eating with the screen between them. He asked Din about his customs, and Din attempted to be as direct as he could.

“So your clan always keeps the armour on,” he surmised.

“Yes, except for when we are with our spouses. This is the Way.”

Cobb hummed. “And I guess I’m a poor substitute for a spouse.”

Din didn’t have a response.

Din ate his fill and replaced his helmet before standing from the table. Cobb moved when he did, finishing off the remnants of his wine—how many glasses did he have tonight?

Before Din could suggest walking Cobb back to his chambers, Cobb stumbled in front of him and backed Din up against the nearest wall. Din held himself still as Cobb set his hands on his breastplate, sweeping his fingers across the beskar and feeling at the gaps and buckles that kept his armour in place.

“I’ve served many guards on the quick,” Cobb said. He hands were at Din’s hips and even through the layers of beskar and cloth, it felt as if lightning was on his skin, arcing down to his groin. “I could make an exception for you. Show you what I’m _really_ about.”

The smell of wine was strong on Cobb’s breath, and Din gently took Cobb’s wrists like he did the first night.

“I’d like to take you to your chambers if you’d let me walk with you.”

“Oh,” Cobb said, low and pleased. “You like it sweet and tender then.”

Din didn’t respond and instead led Cobb back to his quarters and saw him to his bed. The man collapsed on the thick bedding, rolling onto his back, arms stretched above his head as he spread his legs in the form of an invitation.

“You also wouldn’t happen to be Manda’lor the Virginal, now would you?” Cobb asked, amusing himself at Din’s expense. “It would happen to explain _a lot._ ”

“You are my guest—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cobb waved him off and instead pulled at his bedding to wrap himself up in it and burrow into the pillows. “So you’ve said before.”

It was enough of a dismissal for Din to leave and return to his own rooms for the night. He was alone and could remove his helmet if he so chose, but he didn’t. Instead, he chose to sit in front of the tended to fire in his room and simply remember the feeling of Cobb’s hands on him, feeling guilty for every sordid feeling.

* * *

Cobb and Din had shared their first kiss when Din turned thirteen. It was on a summer’s eve during Din’s summer in Tatooine, the japor snippet on his neck. It felt that much more important to Din now at that age than it had when he was five.

Cobb was more mature, growing into his body and looking more presentable than Din, who was still waiting for his growth spurt to hit.

The kiss was of little fanfare, and Din hadn’t been expecting it. It was a quick peck to his lips, and he blushed deeply.

“We’re going to be husbands some day,” Cobb said. “No harm in practicing now.”

“Can I have another?”

And Cobb smirked. “Of course, cyar’ika.”

 _“Cyar’ika,_ ” he corrected.

“Yes, that’s what I said. Cyar’ika.”

“No. _Cyar’ika.”_

Cobb smiled and kissed him again, another quick peck on the lips.

It was a favourite memory of his, and one of the last meaningful moments he would spend with Cobb until he disappeared.

* * *

Cobb liked to keep to the garden most days. It was usually one of the quietest places on the palace grounds. Mandalorians were practical in most aspects of life and only saw to gardening for the purposes of growing food, not keeping up exotic plants that likely wouldn’t survive in their more temperate climate. It was the one place that Din normally didn’t visit, being far too busy in keeping the clans appeased, establishing ties to the New Republic of Tatooine, while simultaneously balancing the precarious situation of Cobb’s second life.

They hadn’t yet had a chance to discuss their shared history. Din didn’t think Cobb would believe him, and seeing as they weren’t spouses (and possibly couldn’t be as the council would never recognize Cobb’s heritage or see him anything other than an escort), Din didn’t exactly have the luxury of being able to remove his helmet, drop to his knees in front of Cobb and show him that he was here. That Cobb didn’t lose everyone.

Cobb wouldn’t believe him. How could he? After the years of mistreatment, the lies he’d been forced to endure. It was a miracle he even trusted to speak with Fennec and invite her into his quarters. Without her, Din would probably never see nor hear of Cobb and his whereabouts in the palace.

It was a cooler day outside, the wind more pronounced than usual, the sky overcast and grey. Not heavy with rain, but it didn’t speak of sun on the horizon either.

Cobb was seated on a bench, looking out into the local village down the hill that sprawled along the shore. He was shivering, arms at his torso, seemingly lost in thought.

“It’s a nice view,” Din said because he didn’t know how else to announce his presence. He winced when Cobb turned sharply, eyes wide but then he softened his stance.

“I’ve been here once before,” he admitted and it was the first time Cobb had ever mentioned his time here in the country. Years ago now. Decades, even.

“Have you now?”

He nodded. “I was younger. It was for a trip. My parents took me.” He wouldn’t elaborate further.

Din couldn’t help but look at the brand on Cobb’s back. His outfits were all silk, all meant to drape over him in a visually pleasing manner and always cut to expose the brand. He couldn’t have been warm in that. Another strong gust of wind and Cobb hunched over a little, teeth chattering, goose flesh on his skin.

“You’re cold,” Din said. “Allow me.” He unclasped his cloak and draped it over Cobb’s shoulders. Cobb looked perplexed, but then accepted it, curling the thick cloak around him and sinking into it.

“I’m used to heat and sand,” he said.

“I’ll have a new wardrobe made for you,” Din offered. “Whatever you would like.”

“And miss this show?” Cobb asked, half teasing, half sultry. “I thought you’d might want to see more of me. Not less.”

“I want to see that you’re comfortable.”

Cobb looked out over the town for a spell before he rose, keeping the cloak wrapped around him. “If the Manda’lor wishes to dress me as his own, then who am I to refuse such a gift?”

“You will choose,” Din said. “You are my guest.”

“Yes, so you’ve said many times. I appreciate the gift, Mando.”

“It’s what you deserve.”

Cobb would disappear for a few days after Din had sent a tailor to fit him with new clothes, something that he actually wanted to wear and was comfortable in. So the next time Din happened to catch sight of him, from ankle to wrist to chin, he was covered in thicker fabrics in a distinctly Mandalorian style but fit Cobb none the less. And for the first time in a long time, it seemed like Cobb was finally comfortable.

He wouldn't see his cloak again, and he could only hope that it meant Cobb was starting to warm up to him.

* * *

“I would just tell him if I were you,” Boba said. “The only person who’d know you’d be breaking your Creed is you and Cobb. And it would be good for him!”

“He does ask about you,” Fennec agreed. “And there’s only so much I can say before I start dropping hints of my own.”

“I need more time,” Din said.

“No, what you need is to make a decision,” Boba said. “The throne or Cobb because there is no world where you can have both in a way that you want.”

Bo-Katan and the council would demand his abdication. It would mean he’d be a disgrace in the eyes of his clan. Could he do it all for Cobb? Was that what he truly wanted? A chance at a life he lost?

“Whatever you end up doing, don’t string him along,” Fennec said. “Cobb has been through enough and he deserves better from you.”

“I know. I’ll . . . I’ll try to speak with him.”

“Yes,” Boba said dryly. “Because words have _always_ been more concise than action.”

Din didn’t offer him a response.

* * *

He did end up spending more time with Cobb privately, skirting public dinners and functions when he could. Now that Cobb wasn’t nearly as exposed as he was in his old clothes, he seemed much more comfortable and open around Din. He wasn’t as sarcastic or teasing, keeping a respectable distance between them now that he realized Din didn’t want him for his body.

They would talk like they weren’t a king and his escort. They talked like two friends, trading stories that had nothing to do with who they were and what they’d done with their lives. But rather things they were proud of, things they’d seen, things they wanted to do. And it wasn’t for the first time that Din wished he wasn’t so beholden to his Creed so he could damn the rules, damn his armour, and look Cobb in the eyes without something between them.

_I’m here, cyar’ika. And I will never leave you or let you go again._

* * *

“Where did you get that?”

The night had been going well. Cobb was actually quite cordial and relaxed for once. He was talking somewhat openly for him, smiling a bit, and actually joking with Din even with the screen divider between them when they took their meals.

But then he’d seen the necklace after Din had removed at the very least his breastplate. The necklace was an old and wooden thing, carved by a child’s hand to symbolize a japor snippet. It was a custom piece of jewelry crafted with love to be gifted as a means of betrothal in most cases. Cobb had given this to him during one of their many meetings as children, and Din had always kept it with him, even after the devastating news of the entire royal family of Tatooine being slain or otherwise having disappeared during a bloody coup.

And it was the sight of this that seemed to enrage Cobb.

“This?” Din asked, holding up the necklace in his hand, but Cobb moved fast. He ripped the necklace from around Din’s neck, snapping the delicate leather string, and retreating immediately.

Din couldn’t have guessed Cobb’s reaction to it, and maybe he should’ve seen this from the start.

Cobb’s head snapped up and he fixed Din with a darkened gaze, curling his fingers in on the snippet. “Where did you get this?” he repeated, firmer this time than before.

What could he say? _You gave it to me as a child?_

Cobb wouldn’t believe him. He’d think Din was lying. They weren’t ready to have this conversation.

“I . . . it was given to me as a gift,” Din said.

“By who? Who did you kill to get this?”

“No one, I . . . I have offended you.”

Cobb laughed shortly, something cruel and sad. “I don’t know where you might have gotten this, but you are _never_ getting it back. You hear?”

Din nodded solemnly. “Please, keep it. It wasn’t mine to take in the first place.”

“You got that right.”

Cobb soon retreated, leaving the room in a huff to presumably lock himself up in his quarters. Fennec would probably have a better chance at speaking to him later, but for now all Din could do was sink his seat and wonder if things could possibly get worse.

* * *

Cobb refused to see Din, and Fennec didn’t have the heart to try and convince him to leave his chambers. Apparently, he was inconsolable, and Din could understand why. He thought everyone he knew was now dead—that he was actually alone.

Din’s own turmoil made him slip in his own duties as Manda’lor. The council was not pleased with out uninvolved he seemed at their meetings and how withdrawn he’d become in court. It was suggested to him that he release the escort and instead focus on finding a spouse. Or abdicate, was the unspoken suggestion, but Din wouldn’t entertain it.

“You must act,” Bo-Katan said. “The new routes opened to us with Tatooine may bring us trouble with these new rulers. We need the Manda’lor to consider this situation with tact and grace befitting of his position.”

She always dared to call him out and question his decisions in front of the council. He considered, not for the first time, abdicating there and then and leaving Mandalore for good. Creed and clan be damned, but duty kept him chained to the throne.

“And the situation will be handled,” Din assured them. “Then let’s speak of the routes and what the New Republic of Tatooine is asking of us.”

* * *

After two weeks of not seeing Cobb, Din bolstered his courage to go knock on his door. He knocked and waited. Asked for him by name.

“I know you’re hurt,” he said through the door. “I know you’re lonely. But I . . .” He sighed and rested his helmet against the door. He wished he could just hold Cobb and pretend they didn’t have these worlds between them. That they could just be _them_ again. Just Din and Cobb with no royal duties hanging over them.

“ _Dank farrick_ ,” he muttered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Cobb, if you give me a moment, I can explain why I had that japor snippet. And if, if you find my answer unsatisfactory, I’ll help you find a home, a place where you can feel safe.” He waited, tried to listen for movement behind the door, but could only hear his own heartbeat.

“Cobb?” He tested the door handle and found it to be open. He hesitated before stepping inside. “Cobb?”

He walked in further, disturbed at the silence. Then he saw it. The twisted and knotted bedsheets tied to the footing of the bed and leading out of the open window.

Oh. _Oh no._

* * *

In a split decision, Din had shed his beskar armour for a lighter more agile set of leather armour. He pulled up a cowl and hood to cover his face before he left the palace on his own. He mounted his warhorse the Razor Crest and ran out into the night. He tried to think of where Cobb might go. He couldn’t have gotten far. He probably would’ve left just as the moon had risen. He’d be familiar with the terrain to an extent. If he was smart, he’d try to get to the ports, possibly seek passage on a ship and leave for a new life some place else. Din guided Razor Crest towards the water’s edge, pushing his mount as fast as he dared.

He followed the darkened, twisting paths towards the water’s edge. The main ports were largely empty at this hour except for stationed guards. He didn’t see anyone that stood out, so he spurred on Razor Crest, wheeling her out of the main ports and further away from the main city. Maybe Cobb was looking for some place more secluded, abandoned so he wouldn’t be noticed and—

He saw firelight ahead, pulling back on the reigns.

 _“Desert Rose! Come here, Desert Rose._ ”

“ _If the Mighty Manda’lor doesn’t want you, we’ll sure take you._ ”

He urged Razor Crest forward, unsheathing his blade and camp upon the encampment—Cobb on his knees, struggling to free himself from a group of four bandits. Razor Crest reared, spooking the bandits before Din struck, bringing his blade down on the closest to him.

He showed no mercy. Anyone harming a citizen of his would forfeit their life, and he would no lose Cobb again.

He slid off of Razor Crest and approached Cobb who was trembling and pushing back against the ground to avoid him.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” he hissed.

Din held up his hands. “Cobb, _please._ It’s me.”

Then Cobb’s eyes got wide. “Mando?”

He nodded and Cobb half sobbed before moving forward and throwing himself against Din’s chest.

“I have you, _cyar’ika._ ” Cobb’s shoulders shook. “Let me take you home.” But just as he turned, he stumbled and felt a jolt of pain run up his right leg.

“You’re injured,” Cobb said, tenderly reaching for the tear in Din’s trousers, exposing the cut to his leg.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. We need . . . let’s find a place to rest a moment.”

Din couldn’t argue with that. He let Cobb support half his weight as they walked away from the scene of carnage.

They would come to a rundown cabin up the road just as the rain began to fall. They had no provisions to light a fire, but Din reasoned that Boba would no doubt be on the road soon with half the captain’s guard looking for him. All they’d have to do was staunch the bleeding on his leg.

He tore at the cut of his trousers and ripped it wider so he could access it more fully. It looked liked a deep cut that would need stitches. He attempted to dab the blood, but his hissing drew Cobb over.

“Here,” he said. “Let me.” He gingerly pressed the cloth to the cut to uncover how deep it was. “I wonder if that beskar would’ve come in handy.”

“I would’ve been—ah!—too noticeable. I had to be quick.”

“And all this trouble for me?”

“Always. I wouldn’t leave you again.”

Cobb looked away, continued to wipe the blood away. “I’ll have to cut the pant leg off to bind it,” he said. “Would you be all right with this?”

Din nodded and let Cobb work, using Din’s knife to remove the material and exposing his leg from the thigh down. It was then that he saw the jagged scar on Din’s knee—an old thing from his childhood that was long since faded but still raised.

“Where did you get that scar?” he asked, not looking Din in the eyes. His hand hovered over it, and Din could feel the heat from his fingers without him even touching him.

“I fell,” Din said, not thinking anything of it, until Cobb asked: “How?”

And Din thought back to the memory. What had he been, ten at the time? Learning how to ride a pony for the first time. He’d been kicked off after the pony had been spooked and he cut his knee on a rock, so he said, “Fell off a horse.”

“You were horseback riding,” Cobb said. He folded his hands in his lap. “You were riding through a river and got tossed.”

Din blinked, then the memory became clearer in his mind.

Cobb had been there with him. He had come running to Din after he got bucked and started crying at the fear of being thrown and the pain of being injured.

“The horse’s name was—”

“Chomper,” Cobb said. “That wasn’t even the horse’s name, but it was a mean thing. Always chomping at the bit, always trying to bite the other horses.” Cobb raised a hand and reached out as if he wanted to touch Din’s but then he pulled back. Din wouldn’t let the opportunity go to waste and seized Cobb’s hand, threading their fingers together.

Cobb brought his other hand up to his neck and tugged out the japor snippet. “I thought I lost you.”

“I thought I lost _you_.”

Cobb finally looked up, saw Din’s eyes and actually _saw_ him, despite the cowl, despite the hood. He was still seeing Din for the first time in years, decades. “This isn’t how I imagined it would go,” he admitted.

“I looked for you. I did. But your House was _gone._ ”

“They tried very hard to make that true.” Cobb sniffed, eyes wet and he turned back to tending to Din’s wound, and feeling Cobb’s fingers on his skin wasn’t as shocking as before but soothing, and Din craved it even more, his touch, his heat. Whatever Cobb was willing to give him.

“I didn’t think you would’ve still cared for me, after all those years,” Cobb said.

After he tied off the final knots of the makeshift bandages around his leg, Din gathered Cobb’s hands in his. “I’ve always cared for you.”

Cobb huffed, an amused yet sad smile. “We’re not kids anymore, Din.”

“No, but I lost too many years without you. I want to try, again.”

“And would your council support it? I know what they think about someone like me.”

“Then damn them. Damn the council.”

“You’d give up the throne for me?”

“For us.”

It was a large conversation they would need to sit down and have. What would a relationship between them mean? Was it even the right choice for them in this stage of life? What did Cobb want now that he was free? What would Din want if he didn’t have the weight of Mandalore resting on his shoulders?

As Din predicted, Boba would find them shortly after sunrise. He’d shake his head and order for the Manda’lor and the Desert Rose be escorted back to the castle. Cobb helped him into Razor Crest’s saddle before mounting up behind him. Cobb would snake his arms around Din’s waist, nuzzle against the back of his neck before bowing his head on Din’s shoulder.

The council wasn’t pleased with Din’s sudden disappearance, especially when they realized it was all for the Desert Rose after Cobb had willingly escaped. Din planned his abdication then and there, taking the necessary time to see that a transfer was peaceful and supported by the council. Bo-Katan would have her throne and Din would retreat to the shadows where he felt more comfortable. A public life had never been for him.

But that first night of returning to the palace with Cobb at his side ended with them in the same room together after the palace physician tended to Din's leg. Cobb sat next to him when they were finally alone, mindful of his injured leg before raising his hands to Din’s cowl. No words were needed between them as Cobb slowly pushed back the hood and removed the cowl.

“There you are,” Cobb said, and Din didn’t know how relieved he would feel in this moment.

And he seized his opportunity to kiss Cobb as he had always felt tempted to, relishing Cobb’s enthusiasm.

“I’m here, cyar’ika."

**Author's Note:**

> it is good to be writing again
> 
> staranon95.tumblr.com


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